


What Happens Before

by Quiddity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AugustSheithWeek, Blood, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Pre-Relationship, but he only wants to be a good person, i feel a lil bit like i'm committing a crime, i freaking have to tag lance in my sheithweek, mentions of bullying, sheithweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiddity/pseuds/Quiddity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Responses for the August Sheith Week. Loosely themed around events Pre-Kerberos. Follows Keith coping through the Kerberos launch and the aftermath of the mission failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Date, or Shiro has a steak problem.

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to jump into the VLD fandom with the august sheith week. I knew I hated myself.

            “Keith? Do you want to have dinner at my place after this?”

            Keith’s hand twitches, sending the simulator lurching to the side. He fights the urge to right himself with a swift tug at the controls, instead swinging the craft around the far side of one of Io’s massive geysers.

            “Why?” his voice breaks, catching around where his heart is caught in his throat. They’ve been in the simulator for a good twenty minutes and as far as he knew, Shiro had seemed perfectly fine. Wait, what was he thinking? Of course Shiro would be fine. He just asked if Keith wanted to come over for dinner. Keith scowls and eases back on the controls as he moves back onto course. Shiro’s voice comes steady as ever from the mechanic’s seat behind him.

             “Nice job,” he says. Keith settles back into altitude and the simulator is quiet again. Keith has time to the worst of his nervous energy to subside and nearly forget about the question, more caught up in avoiding the worst of flying debris. He hears Shiro fidget in his seat as if the simulator isn’t slowly lurching under them.

            “There was a sale at the commissary and I bought too many steaks.” Shiro says. What? Shiro didn’t seem much like an impulse buyer but. Keith imagines him walking out of the commissary with a paper bag full of nothing but steak and chuckles. He wants to turn around in his seat and see if Shiro’s just fucking with him with some kind of depreciating joke but he’s strapped in too tightly. He can barely see over the back of his seat anyways.

            “I can’t help you with freaking steak,” he scoffs. “You probably bought those crazy big ones.”

            “Yup,” Shiro says. He doesn’t even sound that apologetic. Rather like he’s stating a fact of life. Every once in awhile, his freezer is just full of steak and there’s nothing he can really do to avoid it.

            “So what do you want me to do about it?” Keith asks. It’s not like meat won’t keep in the freezer, and even if it didn’t, Keith doesn’t see Shiro having much of a problem eating steak every night. He feels like he’s reasoning with himself, skirting around the thought of going to Shiro’s apartment with him, around the thought that of all the people he knew, Shiro asked him.

            “I want you to eat some of them with me!” Shiro insists. Keith frowns to himself and starts to pull the craft further up, gaining altitude to clear the growing mountain range in the distance.

            Keith isn’t thinking so much about the hazards on Io as he is about going to Shiro’s apartment. He’d never been there before despite it being on base, not even that far down the road. Shiro had never invited him and up until a few minutes ago Keith had just kind of assumed that he never would. Until a few minutes ago Shiro had only been a casual friend. Granted he was, by far, the closest Keith had, but Keith had just thought that friends was as far as it-

            “Up, Keith!” Shiro calls. He breaks Keith out of his thoughts. He curses to himself and pulls back on the stick to regain some air, steep but controlled.

            He watches a cliff pass by below them with perhaps fifty feet of clearance and thinks himself an idiot. What the hell was he assuming? Shiro wanted him to come over for steak because he was stupid and bought too many. It wasn’t like he was asking Keith to a movie and a make out session in the back of his car. 

            His cheeks flush hot and he bites into his cheek to steady his focus.

            “Why not just invite some of your neighbors? You live in single housing. They all like steak,” Keith bites out. Shiro is quiet behind him for several seconds. Keith frowns and watches the yellow landscape move past on the screen and wonders if he’s just blown the whole situation for himself again.

            “I don’t want them to know that I’m the one who bought all the ribeye,” Shiro admits, so quiet Keith can barely hear him. That’s funny. Shiro sounds almost scared but all Keith can think about are uniformed officers making out with the contents of Shiro’s freezer like bandits. He grins and hardly takes in a stilted breath before Shiro’s onto him.

            “Don’t laugh! It’s serious. If I let them in, they’ll make off with my Oreos too.” Keith laughs as skirts around one of Io’s tallest mountains.

            It’s not until later, once Keith has landed the simulated flight and they sit idling on an alien runway, that Shiro brings up the subject again.

            “So, you never really gave me an answer,” he starts when Keith swivels his chair around towards Shiro. Keith watches as Shiro writes down simulation details in the logbook, how his fingers mark quick numbers on the page. Keith squirms at the question.

            “About dinner?” Keith asks. He lets out his seatbelts as he unbuckles them. It’s a habit he’s developed only recently. More than once, Shiro’s knocked himself in the teeth trying to use the simulator right after him and the belts are shorter than he expects. “You still want me to come over?”

            “Well, if you really don’t want to I’m not gonna force it, but yeah, I still want you to,” Shiro says. Keith watches, and thinks about how Shiro’s never taken his efforts to push him away all that seriously. Shiro always seems to want him around, even when Keith is feeling surly and antisocial. Keith stands, his legs a little numb from the vibrations of the simulator.

            “Yeah, I’ll come.” At the very least, Shiro is offering something better than the mess hall.


	2. Day 2: Injury, or Keith keeps secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of homophobia, bullying, and blood so if that's something that's gonna bother you, go ahead and skip this chapter.

            Keith can’t see anything past the thick curve of Shiro’s shoulders. He’s crowding Keith against the wall and he smells the heavy fumes of jet fuel hanging onto Shiro’s jumpsuit and hands as he pinches Keith’s nose.

            Keith coughs as blood runs down the back of his throat rather than out his nose. Shiro’s free hand cups the back of his head, pushes his face down until Keith can only focus on their boots. Bright red drops of blood mark fat circles on his uniform and the orange dusted concrete. It turns dark at the edges as it starts to dry.

            “What are you doing?” Shiro hisses. He takes a small step and his boot smears a few drops of blood around in a bright print. His voice has got a dangerous edge to it that cuts through the heat beating down on them, the dust in Keith’s eyes.

            Shiro probably doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping his nose. Keith’s eyes water at the pain and tears drop as he tries to blink them back, falling among the mess of blood. He grips at the sleeve of Shiro’s jumpsuit, tugging at it but it’s like clawing at a wall.

            “Let go,” His voice sounds high and petulant in his own ears. He pants hard through his mouth. Bright copper coats his tongue thick enough to make his stomach turn with nausea. He spits pink between his feet.

            “Not yet. You’re still bleeding everywhere,” Shiro says. Keith spits again and groans. “Why are you fighting?” Shiro starts and Keith can feel the rant coming. “Why do you do this? You know how serious this is Keith. You’re not in public school anymore.”

            Shiro doesn’t have finish his thought. He knows perfectly well the look in Shiro’s eyes, the thoughts running through his head. _They’ll kick you out. It doesn’t matter how good of a pilot you are. They’ll kick you out._

            Keith knows that. He _knows_ that. How can he function as a member of the military if he can’t even keep himself out of trouble? How can he take care of himself when Shiro has to break up his fights for him, hold his nose to stem the bleeding?

            His eyes are still watering and he hates himself because it’s not entirely from the pain in his sinuses anymore. Shiro sighs and his thumb brushes the hair at the nape of his neck.

            “I’m not going to tell anyone,” Shiro promises. His voice is lower now, his fingers digging deeper into Keith’s hair. “Lord knows you don’t need me giving you demerits.”

            He likes this about Shiro. It’s a guilty pleasure, letting Shiro spoil him like this, knowing that he has a little more leeway with Shiro than with the other officers. Shiro knows him better than any of the others and he’s the only one who doesn’t’ hold it against him.

            But when Shiro touches him like this, when he pets at the back of his neck and pushes Keith to the wall like he thinks he’s going to run away bleeding, like a scared and wounded animal, he thinks of his peers. He remembers the times some of the other cadets strut up to him in the hallway, or the mess hall, or like today, when he’s outside just killing what little free time he has in the afternoon away from the crowds inside.

            They always ask him about the same thing. They always ask him about Shiro. Ask him how he got on Shiro’s good side. They call him names. They accuse him of keeping his hair long because Shiro likes it. They tell him spends the extra flight hours he puts in with Shiro on things more lewd. They tell him he sucks Shiro’s cock.

            They jab at him until what little patience Keith has for them snaps and he throws the first punch. The other boys are cowards. They wait and poke and spit words like a pack of hyenas and only move in when Keith’s fist connects with someone’s jaw and he leaves himself open.

            “Let go,” Keith insists. His bloody fingers hook in the cuff of Shiro’s jacket as he tries to pry his hand from his nose. It’s all he can say. No matter how Shiro fusses over him, how many times he asks what happens and pleads for Keith to stop getting himself in trouble and _‘Why can’t you calm down?’_ Keith keeps his mouth shut. It’s mortifying enough to hear all the accusations and names and threats from the people who don’t know anything. Keith doesn’t think he’d ever be able to open himself up and share all the bad rumors about him with Shiro.

            Shiro slowly, slowly, loosens his grip. His fingers are stained the same bright red as the drops on the concrete, a couple rivulets running to the center of his palm. He still holds Keith’s head down for a couple of seconds, but when his nose no longer drips blood he seems content and his hand slides down to Keith’s shoulder. Keith lifts his head and swallows the last lingering copper in his mouth. His skin itches all down his chin and neck, over his cheek as the blood dries. He fights the urge to scratch at it and make even more of a mess of himself.

            “Are you okay?” Shiro asks. Keith stares off beyond Shiro’s shoulder. He knows Shiro has that annoyingly worried look in his eyes and he can’t face it right now. So he only shrugs.  Shiro squeezes his shoulder tightly.

            “Listen to me, okay?” Shiro starts. Keith glances at his face and yep, there’s that puppy dog look that makes his throat feel too tight. “You’re smart, you’re an -amazing- pilot. I know you know better than to fight but…” he pauses. Keith wonders what he’s really wanting to say. How it differs from what will actually come from his lips. “But I know you have your own reasons.  I’m not encouraging it but…If it’s something serious you can talk to me.”

            Keith’s brow furrows. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants to forget the things the other cadets say, their sneers, the things they call him. The things they call _Shiro_. He steps to the side, wanting to just walk away and clean himself up, but Shiro catches him by the arm.

            “ _Listen,_ Keith,” Shiro presses. “Whatever it is. Even if you think it’s stupid, or if it’s so serious it’s hard to talk about, if you want to talk to me, you can. I’ll listen to you. I won’t judge. You know anything you tell me would be just between the two of us.” Shiro’s brow furrows with worry and Keith finally gives in to the itch in his cheek and rubs it on his sleeve, leaving a red stain in the tan cloth.

            “Okay,” is all Keith says, and Shiro lets him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Quiddid on twitter


	3. Day 3: Pining, or what's left unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a direct continuation of yesterdays chapter. This time with more angst!

            Something feels wrong. Keith can’t put his finger on it but there’s something squirming around in his chest that leaves him feeling cold and clammy. He’s been in here in the mess hall for hours, his calves numb and cold where the edge of the chair digs into the backs of his knees.  Keith’s eyes are glued to the flatscreen on the wall. The view has been more or less on the Kerberos rocket for the past hour. They’re putting together the last little bits and pieces, tying off loose ends as launch time nears.

            They’re really leaving. The mission was announced publicly months ago. Somehow Keith has pushed it to the back of his mind. There was no way Shiro was leaving. But looking at the rocket now and listening to the excited chatter coming from the crowd just out of shot, it seems real. It _is_ real. The craft is packed to the brim with research equipment, drills and picks to cut through the hard, ancient ice. There’s enough fuel and food for the three crew members, enough for months and months of flight.

            One time Shiro told him that, at the time of arrival, Kerberos would be about 2.66 billion miles away. That was one way. 2.66 billion miles just to show up and start research. At the time Keith had only thought it a number. It still is a number, but now when Keith thinks about it he feels like he’s swallowed a pool ball and it’s sitting hard and cold in his stomach. He can’t imagine how big a number 2.66 billion is. He can try to put it in layman’s terms, try to figure it out in terms of drops of water or grains of sand but it’s still too big to really comprehend. He has no hope of really putting together just how far away 2.66 billion miles is, even though he already knows the answer.

            It’s the distance between Earth and Pluto’s moon, Kerberos.

            Kerberos is 7.4 miles across at its widest point. Keith knows he can run a mile in about seven and half minutes. If he wanted to, he could run from one pole to the other in about an hour.

            It’s this kind of math that makes him sick. Shiro’s flying 2.66 billion miles to land on an icy rock that’s smaller than the military base he lives in. Isn’t that hard? He’s going so fast, so far, in such a vast empty space. How is he going to hit his mark? 2.66 billion miles is a long way away. No one else has gone that far. What if mission control has their math wrong? They could be off by only a couple hundred miles, only a few minutes, and Shiro is hurtling off beyond the solar system.

            How hard is it to turn around and correct a wrong turn at the edge of the solar system? Did Shiro have enough fuel to turn around and readjust his course? What happens when someone gets stranded in the Kuiper belt?

            Keith lets out a slow breath. He trusts Shiro. He knows just as well as everyone else how good a pilot he is. Shiro has put so much time and training into this mission for months. Shiro knows what he’s doing. Out of everyone in the world, the Garrison chose Shiro to pilot the farthest mission from Earth in history.

            Keith chews on his lip and watches the television. The newscaster is talking about…something. He’s heard it all before and the guy is just chattering to fill the empty space while everyone waits with bated breath.

            There’s a whole crowd out there on the tarmac, pressed up against the bright orange barrier. Keith is the only one inside. He’s been the only one in here for hours and he hasn’t seen another soul in all that time. There’s little worry of someone coming back in and finding him before launch.

            He could go outside and watch with the rest of them. He doesn’t have to stay in here where it’s too cold and too quiet and too removed from everything else in the world. The rocket he sees on the television is, perhaps, a twenty minute walk down the road. There’s nothing really keeping Keith from going out and giving Shiro the respect of watching him make history in person.

            But he’s too much of a coward. He’s felt sick with nerves for days and he knows how bad he looks. He doesn’t want to go out there into the crowd of people he knows, people he works with and who attend the same classes as him. He doesn’t want them to see his cold sweat, pale lips, the dark bruises under his eyes. Who knows what they’ll think of him? Who knows what kinds of conclusions they’ll draw? No, it’s better to stay in here where he doesn’t have to face anything but his own thoughts.

            A bright, long alarm blares through the speakers. Keith can hear the muffled echo of the real thing bleeding in through the walls around him, faint and far away. The newscaster goes silent mid-sentence. Keith can’t hear what mission control says over the loudspeaker, garbled first through the control tower, then the news station’s sound equipment and again through the television. The countdown comes through just fine.

            “10…9…” He’s so selfish. He’s so fucking selfish because he would rather stay in here by himself instead of witnessing Shiro achieve everything he’s worked so hard for in person. Because he’s scared of his peers seeing how much of a nervous wreck he is. There are civilians out there on the tarmac who don’t know exactly what Kerberos is, where it lies, what this mission is even for, but they’re out there all the same showing their support for three men who are risking everything for the sake of science and mankind.

            “8…7…6…” He should have called Shiro more. Keith already hasn’t seen him for the past several days. Between his own classes and the endless hours Shiro’s spent at mission control for last minute preparations, there hasn’t been a chance to meet up. Or that’s what Keith thought. Maybe he just didn’t try hard enough. Maybe he should have stayed up later. Waited for Shiro to come home at night. Called, texted, left a fucking _voicemail_ telling him good luck.

            “5…4…” He should have told Shiro he loved him. He’d been hedging around it for months anyways. They’d been circling around each other, flirting and hinting but never really coming out with the truth. Keith was so, so sure Shiro felt similarly but in the end, he’d been too scared. What if Shiro rejected him and then left Earth? What if Shiro reciprocated and then left Earth? Either way Keith would be waiting here, useless and impatient as always and some part of him had just reasoned that not knowing would be best until Shiro came back.

            “3…2…1…” The thick, nasty feeling in Keith’s gut grows worse. Something’s going to go wrong. He _knows_ something is wrong. Bright white plumes of smoke engulf the bottom half of the rocket as the thrusters fire to life, the bright blue flame cutting through the thick cover. Keith watches second hand as the rocket shudders and lifts from the ground, slow at first but rapidly gaining speed and altitude.

            It’s too late. Everything Keith wanted and everything he’s been too scared to do or say means nothing now. All the times he didn’t appreciate Shiro. All the times he pushed him away or lost his patience. He can’t apologize for it now. Something in him screams that he’ll never see Shiro again. That he’ll never know how he would have answered that confession. He’ll never knows for sure how Shiro feels. Keith’s head presses to the cool laminated tabletop, shoulders shaking.

            There’s nothing to be done about it now.


	4. Day 4: Crossover, or Keith isn't the only one thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole nother thing written out for this prompt. Full on fantasy AU and everything. But then I was like "I've got kind of a timeline going on with all my other prompts..." and i didn't want to put 3k of random fantasy in the middle of this thing that otherwise all goes together. So I kind of took the spirit out of today's prompt ( sorry! ) and my idea for this bit was like a "crossover of perspective?" Keith has been thinking about Shiro and fussing over this whole Kerberos mission but Lance is popping in today to remind him that he's not the only person thinking about Shiro and Kerberos!

            “Keith?” Lance leans into his space, smelling of coffee and a freshly laundered uniform. Keith wonders, briefly, if he should respond because Lance is still leaning in, his hands spread on either side of Keith’s blank notebook. He decides to ignore him. He’s not in the mood to talk. He hasn’t been in days, weeks even, and even if he did, Lance is among the last people he wants to chat with.

            Lance’s body curves as he leans to the side, trying to get a glimpse at Keith’s face. Keith remains stubborn, brow furrowed as he scratches little circles over the page with his pen.

            “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” No one fucking _asked_ him, is Keith’s first thought. The second is that of course he’s not fine. The same nerves that plagued him before the Kerberos mission launched still eats at him.

            Keith feels weird in his own skin. He feels like he’s three degrees off kilter from the rest of the world. People still see him, they still try to talk to him and demand things from him like homework and flight hours and PT every single morning but Keith feels like he’s not connected to them anymore. Even though Lance is right there, circling around the end of the bench and settling into the seat beside him, he doesn’t seem like he’s really there. Like if he reached out his hand would just phase through Lance’s chest.

            But Lance looks at him, a catlike grin pulling at the corner of his mouth when Keith lifts his head to watch him. Lance sees him and stares, resting his cheek in his hand. Lance sees him, but he doesn’t sense the same nerves that Keith does. That constant energy deep in his bones that keeps him up at night and breaks his concentration and makes him want to scream and slide his fingers tight around Lance’s neck just because nothing will go away.

            The silence strings along between them when Keith stares and doesn’t say anything and ultimately, Lance is the first to give in. His eyes slide off Keith’s face and narrow in somewhere over his shoulder, his grin fading into something more pensive.

            “So like,” Lance starts. He drops his hand to the desk, tapping at the laminated surface with short nails. “I know we’re rivals and all but I’m kinda worried about you?” His voice tips up right at the end, as if he’s asking a question. To himself? Or is he trying to ask Keith if it’s okay to worry over him?

            “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Keith says and finally, he gives Lance a break, pulling his eyes off of him and turning back to his aimless scribbling. It’s a lie. He doesn’t want Lance on his back. The last thing he needs is Lance trying to bumble around and keep an eye on him.

            “Are you sure?” Lance asks. Keith feels his eyes on him again and he can imagine the way Lance’s eyes narrow in, the way he scrutinizes the tired bags under Keith’s eyes.

            “I’m _fine,_ Lance,” Keith growls out. “I just can’t sleep lately.” Lance seems happy enough to jump onto the excuse and stretches out over the desk with a long sigh, with his arms hanging off the front edge in Keith’s view. There’s a long stretch of silence between them, something of an intimate bubble of quiet in the muted bustle of the classroom around them. Keith starts to ignore Lance again, thinking that he might be done chattering at him.

            “Me neither,” Lance says quietly. Keith doesn’t move besides for filling in the circles he’s made into black dots on his paper. There’s something in Lance’s voice that he doesn’t elaborate on but no sooner than Keith starts to ponder over it before the instructor walks in, stepping down between the rows of desks up to the podium at the front. Lance shifts enough to look at the older man shuffle his notes around and get his lecture in order, but he never lifts his head from his arm.

            “I wish Shiro was still here,” Lance muses and Keith feels that he might as well have jumped up and kicked Keith out of his chair. Lance somehow muttered the one thing that had been running around in Keith’s head for the past few weeks as if it were something that just occurred to him. Keith sets down his pen, crosses his arms over the paper and leans into them, staring up at the blank board in the front of the room.

            “How come?” he asks and thinks that this might be an exercise in masochism. He knew why _he_ wanted Shiro back. He worried endlessly about him out there…where was he now? Last Keith had heard, the mission had cleared Jupiter, but that was late last week.

            “Because he’s way cooler than this jerk,” Lance answers as he waves his hand vaguely towards the instructor. “And a lot nicer. He doesn’t constantly get on my case like this guy does.” Lance’s words are so stupid. They’re nothing different or unique. Every student has griped and compared their teachers. But Lance is talking about Shiro, and something warms in Keith’s chest thinking that Lance has so much respect for him. Lance, however, keeps lolling around on his desk as if ‘this jerk’ isn’t going to look up in a few seconds and tear into him for it.

            “But it’s not like I can really hold it against him. If I had the choice of hanging around here or shooting myself off to Pluto, I’d do the same thing,” Lance quips. Keith huffs hard through his nose before he can stop himself. He barely fails to keep his smile under wraps and covers it with his hand instead. That sly look is on Lance’s face again.

            “I mean it. It fucking sucks here,” Lance sits up and starts to stretch out in the other direction, leaning back hard in his seat and stretching his arms over his head. “I’ll get my time though. Two more years and then I’m officially a space trucker~” Keith feels a little bad for the choking laugh that spills between his fingers. It’s such a depreciating joke; everyone knows that Lance _hates_ being a cargo pilot. Everyone knows just how badly he wants to be a fighter pilot. But the way he says it, like the thing he hates most is grand and exciting compared to the Garrison really gets to Keith. Lance seems happy enough with Keith’s reaction though. He relaxes in his seat and his smile grows into something warmer, more genuine.

            “Hunk told me this morning that the Kerberos crew passed by Saturn the other day. We’re going to go look at the pictures they sent back after class. You wanna come with us?” Lance asks. The instructor pointed clears his throat at the front of the room and Lance waves back, showing he’s ready to settle down. Keith nods as soon as the teacher’s back is turned. He wants to see Saturn’s rings. He wants to see the things Shiro sees too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Quiddid on twitter. 
> 
> PT means Physical Training. 
> 
> If anyone's wondering about Lance he's homesick. That poor child is always homesick.


	5. Day 5: Animals, or Keith finds a friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, just kind of a short wandering thing for today.

            Keith knelt down, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling and scraping on the concrete. The cat was there again, skulking around in a tall patch of grass against Shiro’s apartment building. It hadn’t seen him yet, more concerned with grooming its face than anything else.  

            He rustled the bag in his hand and the cat paused mid-lick, ears trained forward on the sound. A couple more seconds of grooming itself and pulled itself up on its feet. It always comes to Keith easily in a smooth, graceful trot. Like it has hardly a care in the world and is so unconcerned with the goings-on around it that it hardly takes the time to look around itself as it stalks across the lawn to where Keith sits on the curb.

            “Hey you,” Keith hums. He offers his fingers as the cat circles around him. It barely stops to sniff them before it’s shoving its head into Keith’s hand and pressing hard into his fingers when he scratches it along the back of its neck.

            “I got something for you today.” Keith reaches into the bag and pulls a tin of cat food, one of the small round ones he found in the commissary. The cashier had looked at him a little weird when he’d checked out dressed in his uniform with one tin of cat food and a bottle of coke but Keith doesn’t let it bother him too much. The cat is trying to climb on his knee, straining for the fishy smell that rises in the cool, dry air when he pulls back the lid and snaps it off. Keith shoves the lid back in his bag along with the empty coke bottle.

            The cat has its face shoved in the tin before Keith can set it on the curb. It tries to chatter at him and eat at the same time and winds up making a wild, garbled sound that Keith can only grin at.

            It’s this kind of reaction that makes Keith doubt that the cat belongs to anybody. It’s not incredibly thin, but he’s seen cats in better health. He doesn’t mind buying it a can of food when it costs less than a dollar and it seems to welcome the company. It’s getting cold anyways. It probably needs anything it can get.

            The cat keeps eating and when Keith reaches out and smooths his fingers through the short, black fur down its back it doesn’t seem to mind. It pushes up against his hand instead, seemingly more than happy to let Keith pet it in exchange for food.

            “You know,” Keith muses, gently ruffling the thicker fur at the back of the cat’s neck. “You look a lil bit like Shiro. Besides for this,” he says and trails his fingers further up, rubbing the pad of his index finger back and forth over the short white stripe on top of its head.

            Keith’s gotten so attached to this cat because it reminds him so much of Shiro. Besides for that one bright white spot, it’s completely black. But it goes a bit further than appearance. The cat is friendly and the way it confidently struts around between apartment buildings reminds him of the relaxed mood Shiro always seemed to be in. How easy it was to get along with him even when Keith was feeling angry and impatient.

            “You gonna stick around until Shiro gets back?” he asks the cat. It stops eating only long enough to lick its mouth but ultimately it seems disinterested in acknowledging Keith’s question and returns its food.

            Which is fine. Keith knows that Shiro is quickly closing in on Kerberos now. The whole garrison has been worked into a froth over it lately. News of landing should come in any day now. For the first time in a long while, Keith is looking forward to hearing news that Shiro is on the far side of the solar system. It means they can start research. It means that Shiro is that much closer to heading back home.

            “Will you hang out with me if I keep feeding you?” Keith asks. He digs his fingers into the soft fur along the cat’s ribs, feeling its little chest rumble against his skin. “I’m sure Shiro would like you.”


	6. Day 6: Nightmare, or the bright light

             Shiro was sitting next to him. Really. He was right there, next to him, close enough that he could imagine the warmth coming off of him. If he really wanted to, he could reach out and curl his fingers in the fabric of his uniform coat.

            It’s a little weird that Shiro’s wearing his coat already. It’s only August. No. He knows for sure that it’s November. That’s why it’s so cold out. Shiro comes back home in August. So why is this the first time he’s seeing him?

            Keith shivers, thinks again why he wants to reach out and leech off of Shiro’s warmth. They’re outside and the dry desert air is burning his lungs with the chill, cooling him from the inside out. It takes a special kind of person to be out here so late at night without something nice like wool or down feathers, but the sky shines a pretty, unnatural purple so Keith figures that he doesn’t mind. Shiro’s here and while he seems more enthralled in the horizon than Keith, he’s happy enough just seeing him again.

            Keith leans forward, wraps his arms around his knees and tries to look at Shiro’s face. He tries to push himself into Shiro’s line of sight, but he seems disinterested. He’s still staring at the horizon, eyes wide, his skin taking on some of that strange purple hue from the light. It’s a little unsettling. Keith thinks about turning and looking at what has Shiro’s attention but as soon as he does, his stomach turns. It makes him anxious and he has to shove back the urge to get up and go inside to get away from the light. How can Shiro stand to look at it?

            He’s cold. He wants to reach out and grip a handful of Shiro’s favorite sweater. It’s that thick wool one in deep green. Keith remembers Shiro telling him he bought it several years ago for a camping trip in the California desert with his older brother, just after he had enlisted and just before leaving for the Garrison. Shiro had let him wear it once. It had weighed him down with how thick it was, hanging off him so loosely he kept having to roll up the sleeves just to keep his hands free.

            He wouldn’t mind wearing it again. He knows that he could ask and Shiro would give it to him. Shiro wouldn’t hesitate. He would just smile and pull the whole thing over his head in that smooth motion that Keith has always admired because he likes the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch up, so thick and strong, when he takes his shirt off. Maybe asking Shiro would break his attention off the light too.

            Then again, Keith wants to be closer to him. He thinks that he could press himself to Shiro’s side, worm his way under his arm and Shiro would just take it in stride. Shiro would never ask him what he’s doing. What’s wrong with him. Shiro would never push him away or hurt him. However, that thought makes him just as squeamish as the way the purple light pulses over Shiro’s face, so bright but somehow so sinister. Keith can’t bring himself to be that forward. He’s spent too long maintaining this slightly-more-than-friendship to rock the boat right after Shiro’s come home.

            But Shiro’s not home yet, is he?

            Keith shoves that thought to the back of his mind. That’s not true, even though he knows that it is. Shiro’s sitting right next to him to that can’t possibly be true.

            If he wanted to, he could tug at the thin fabric of Shiro’s t-shirt. It’s the dark blue one that stretches tight over his chest. Shiro wears it a lot on his morning runs. Keith thinks of bright mornings. Of the sun just starting to get hot and the way that he can tell what the weather is going to be just through how much he sweats and how closely he’s able to follow Shiro. Keith thinks of a heaving chest under dark blue fabric and the morning he realized he wanted more with Shiro than just morning jogs and friendship.

            He wants Shiro to look at him. Shiro won’t look at him. Keith reaches out for the rough, scratchy looking fabric of Shiro’s spacesuit. He comes up short and he realizes he’s never felt it before. He’s only ever seen Shiro wear it in pictures.

            Keith keeps reaching for him. He keeps coming up short. Which doesn’t make sense because Shiro is _right there,_ perfectly close. Keith should be bumping into him. He’s not though. He keeps missing and Shiro won’t look at him.

            Keith keeps grasping and missing and Shiro doesn’t even seem to notice. Shiro’s still looking over his head. He’s still looking into that purple light. That evil purple light that’s growing brighter and brighter. Shiro looks scared. Keith can’t touch him. Shiro won’t look at him. Keith’s chest grows tight, hears himself take a hitching breath because Shiro won’t look at him. He’s looking at that purple light and Shiro’s got this horrified look on his face that frightens him. It’s just a light. What’s wrong? Keith knows. He _knows_. Deep in his bones.

            It’s not just a light.

            Keith snaps his eyes open and the whole world lurches into darkness.

            A Shiro’s not here. Of course he’s not here. The Garrison just got the news that they had arrived at Kerberos two days ago. Shiro’s still got another six weeks of research before he even starts the months long trip back to Earth.

            Keith squints, the room lit only by the dim, calming blue glow of the alarm clock sitting on his desk. He tries to take a deep breath and nearly chokes on a shuddering sob. He bites hard into his lip and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes until his head aches from the pressure. He tries to stifle himself and all that comes out is a high, thin whine. There’s something wrong.

            Something’s _wrong_ , and he can’t do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone explain to me why I'm writing so much angst for sheith week.


	7. Day 7: Memories, or Keith fights the cold

            Over the past couple of days Keith has come to appreciate the power of the Garrison’s insulation and heating units. He groans, kicking around fitfully on the ratty futon in the hopes of folding his thin blanket around him tighter. As if he could magically fold it some way to generate more warmth than he was getting.

            He was being stubborn. He knew he was and yet the clung to the thought that he could get through this. He could sleep through a cold February night in the Nevada desert. Keith tucks his nose further into his sweater and silently wishes it was big enough to just sink into completely.

            The shack that he’s been living in for the past week is working about as well as can be expected for an abandoned house in the middle of the desert. The concrete walls absorb plenty of heat during the day but by now it’s all dissipated and Keith is left huddling in on himself, tucking his fingers between his thighs in a bid to keep them warm.

            Keith squirms uncomfortably, shoves his nose further into the collar of his shirt. He can’t sleep through this cold, despite the exhaustion leaving his eyes feeling dry and sore. It’s frustrating. He needs the sleep. The far wall of the room is growing crowded with Keith’s fevered notes He’s been scrounging around in the canyons around him for days now, adding to the corkboard every time he’s forced to come back.

            Keith looks at the mess of notes. He’s made a lot of progress, but he needs to sleep now that he’s worked himself to a point where he feels he can afford the time for rest. He’s wasting his time laying here shivering uncontrollably and ignoring the growing numbness in his legs. He’s only got so much time before that instinct to _search_ starts itching in his mind again.

            His eyes wonder off the corkboard to a tarp covered pile in the corner. What’s more frustrating is that Keith has the solution to this problem. It’s just that he’s hesitant to resort to it.

            Keith tugs his face out of his sweater and heaves a sigh into the empty room. His breath mists in the air, so light he can barely see it swirling in the moonlight coming in through the windows behind him. He can’t sleep like this. It’s probably dangerous to sleep like this. Normally he would be able to stop shivering if he really wanted to but…

            Is the middle of a February night really the best time to do this? Keith knows that he has to face it at some point but he hasn’t, he still doesn’t, feel like he’s ready. But it’s been four months and life is kind of forcing his hand. With a growl, Keith tosses off the blanket and rolls off the futon. He’s got to do this at some point.

            “Sorry about this,” Keith mumbles as he pulls the tarp off. There’s two boxes there stacked on top of each other. Keith picks up the top one and sets it on the concrete slab of a coffee table. The other box is bigger and bulges out at the seams, but there’s only one thing in it.

            Keith shoves his arms in and instantly he feels his hands warming as he pulls out a thick, heavy duvet. It’s the duvet Shiro had left on his bed when he left for Kerberos. Keith smiles to himself and stands, gathering up the blanket and taking it with him across the room to the futon, taking care not to let the white fabric trail on the floor. It’s been crushed flat from the box so Keith flaps it once, hard, to put some air back into it. A couple dryer sheets go flying, but what hits Keith immediately is the smell.

            Even after so long of being gone, the duvet still smells faintly of Shiro. The thing has been left in his apartment for months even before the mission was announced a failure and Keith packed it up. He gathers it eagerly to his face, fingers shaking as he inhales. He can’t describe it precisely but the scent is so familiar, even though it’s barely there, that Keith’s throat draws up tight.

            Keith thinks of the crowd in the auditorium when the announcement was made. Keith remembers the numbness on his skin. He remembers the feeling of that nervous twist in his chest finally, finally, _finally_ unwinding because it happened. It really happened. Something _was_ wrong. He had known it. He had been right.

            Keith remembers lying in bed that night and feeling like he wasn’t really there. Feeling like he would never sleep again. Feeling like he would never experience another meaningful thing in his life. Just before dawn he had realized that they would be packing up Shiro’s things and he knew he had to get over there before them and pack up what he could.

            So he had snuck out early and picked up two cardboard boxes from behind the commissary. He had jogged over to Shiro’s apartment and unlocked the door with the spare key Shiro had given him so many months before.

            Keith wonders now, as he curls up on the futon and wraps the duvet tight around himself, if he should have taken the time to look around one last time. When he had snuck in everything was dim in the little bit of sunrise that made it through the drawn curtains. There had just been shock that he was suddenly an intruder. Anger that this house no longer belonged to Shiro, that his things weren’t his anymore.

            Keith remember his only specific thought being ‘Don’t take anything too personal.’ No pictures. Nothing that would rob Shiro’s family of their ability to mourn him. For some reason that had meant Keith was folding up the duvet tightly, gathering up just as many of the dryer sheets tucked under it as he had left behind.

            He leans forward and pulls the second box towards him. It’s smaller than the first, and less heavy. But he’s a little guiltier about what’s in this box. Keith tugs it open and that same, specific, wonderful Shiro smell hits him again. Keith pulls out the first thing he finds. A gray vest.

            Keith thinks of how Shiro would wear it when it was cold because he hated wearing coats. He always said they were too bulky. Too tight in the shoulder so he couldn’t move as well as he wanted. Keith had always thought it was dumb, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling it on now. It’s too big by far, but it keeps his core warm and it smells like Shiro and Keith doesn’t think he can bear to go through every little thing in that box on the table. He doesn’t even know what all is in there. He pushes it back and turns over on the futon, tugging the duvet tightly around himself.

            He’s much warmer now but his mind wanders. He thinks about Shiro’s older brother who suffers from wanderlust and always has the best tales of the road. He thinks about Shiro’s dad who lives somewhere in the forests of Oregon, a true man of nature if Keith had ever heard of one. Keith had always wanted to meet them, and Shiro had always threatened to bring him along when he went to visit them every few months.

            However, Keith isn’t family. He never did end up meeting them, only hearing about them through the stories Shiro would tell him every time he returned. He knows he didn’t really have a right to break into Shiro’s apartment and steal his things. Even if they’re proving useful now.

            Keith pulls the duvet over his head and everything becomes a nest of growing warmth. Had they thought it strange when they came to pack up Shiro’s belongings and the duvet was missing? What about only a handful of random clothes, the rest left folded haphazardly in the dresser? Did they know who kept the spare key left on the dining room table?

            He apologizes to them as his shivering slowly stops. He hopes they hadn’t let these missing things bother them too much. He hopes that it doesn’t hang over their heads and keeps them from mourning. He hopes they’ll forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing for sheithweek! Thank you everyone who took the time to read this~ Now that this is done I've already got a couple other things on the table I wanna work on but you can always get hold of me @Quiddid on twitter or on Ao3. I always like to chat and requests are always fun to take.


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